


an old heart, a new home

by sunsetozier



Series: without him for far too long [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Curses, M/M, Witchcraft, also there are other ships but they're not factors in the universe quite yet, he's just not in this installment!!!, mentions of death/almost death, mike wheeler will be in the series !!!, sonia's dead but she done fucked shit up a long ass time ago lol, supernatural stuff!!!, tense yet loving relationship between richie and his parents, the only human is richie that poor boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-18 09:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: The last time Eddie saw him, it was the late 1800’s.In other words, a long fucking time ago.[In which Richie rents an apartment, moves in, and quickly realizes that everything is about to change.]





	an old heart, a new home

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAA I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS!!
> 
> Okay, so, first of all, this is day six of the 31 Days of Halloween, but it is also part one in an entirely different universe of one shots that I've been wanting to write since I joined this fandom in January. It's loosely based around an idea I got for an original novel that I'll probably never write, and I'm just. So excited about it. Holy fuck.
> 
> This series will mostly be Reddie-centric, but some one shots will focus on other characters/relationships. The series probably won't be updated super fast because I have other wip's to focus on (paranoia being the main one) but I have a list of more one shots that will come out in the future! 
> 
> For some context: there is a lot of unexplained things in here, and that is intentional! The more one shots added to the series, the more sense everything will make. That’s also why Mike Wheeler isn’t in this one shot — his character comes in later. The mystery is a big part of the series, though! I hope you like it!!

            The sun is barely peeking through a blanket of clouds, weakly attempting to warm the Earth in the midst of one of the coldest Octobers in years. Underneath the gloomy sky, a young man steps out of his vehicle, his wide eyes wandering over the large building in front of him as he closes the car door. He tugs on the sleeves of his sweatshirt, seeking warmth from the thick material, and quickly takes out his phone to check the time and make sure he isn’t late. Satisfied, he puts his phone back into his pocket and releases a gentle sigh, facing the entrance and squaring his shoulders before approaching the door. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself to be optimistic, but after the various let-downs, it’s hard not to be negative about this whole ordeal. He supposes all he can really do is hope for the best.

            When he steps inside, he’s greeted by a kind looking man sitting behind the main desk, wearing a wide smile and kind eyes. “You don’t live here,” he states knowingly, his head cocked to the side as he glances down at the paper in front of him before looking back up. “You must be Richard, then. Right?”

            Stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his jeans, Richie nods. “Yeah, but Richie’s fine. Uh- I’m here to look at the apartment for rent?”

            “Absolutely!” the man exclaims, quickly standing and rounding the desk. Upon closer inspection, Richie can see he’s wearing a large red sweatshirt and plain blue jeans, which is very much not professional but makes him seem much easier to relax around. “I’m Mike, I’m one of the owners of the building,” he introduces, sticking his hand out in a silent offer that Richie quickly accepts, shaking his hand briskly. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you up to the apartment.”

            “That’d be great, thanks.”

            Mike leads the way across the room, stopping briefly by the elevator to say, “Don’t use this. It’s broken. We’re working on getting it fixed.” Then, not waiting for any sort of response, he begins to climb the stairs two at a time, leaving Richie in the dust. He looks at the elevator curiously, lips pursed and eyes squinted, before following after. As they pass the second floor, he absently notices a kind of burning smell, which he finds concerning, but Mike doesn’t address it and the smell is gone when they reach the third floor, so he chooses not to ask about it. “This is the one,” Mike murmurs as he approaches the first door on the left, unclipping a full keyring off of his belt and quickly shuffling through them to find the one he needs. “We haven’t done much with the place since it became available, so it’s a bit dusty, but if you decide to move in then we’ll be sure to clean it up and make it nice for you.” By the time he’s done talking, he’s located the right key and quickly unlocks the door. He waits for Richie to nod his understanding before pushing the door open and stepping aside to let Richie in. “I have to go fetch my coworker, he's the one in charge of all the paperwork and stuff so he’s more suitable to answer any questions you might have, but feel free to look around while I go get him.”

            Before Richie can respond, Mike spins around and speed walks down the hallway. Richie blinks after him slowly, his mind scrambling to catch up with the oddly fast pace of this apartment viewing. Compared to the others he’s had, this one definitely stands out as strange, but not in a bad way. If anything, he’s more intrigued and hopeful for this place to work out.

            The door of the apartment opens up into an average sized living room, not particularly large but definitely better than he was expecting for the price they’re asking for. To his left is the kitchen, which has a decent amount of counter space, as well as a microwave, toaster and coffee maker set up, meaning that Richie doesn’t have to worry about buying his own, which is definitely a plus. At the far end of the living room is a short hallway, which has three doors – two on the right side and one at the end of the hall. He makes his way to the closest door and looks through it, finding a bathroom on the other side. It’s kind of small, but it has a good amount of space in the closet and the cabinets, which makes up for it. The second door opens up to what he assumes to be the bedroom, which is also kind of small, but still manageable. He eyes the third door, questioning whether he should look inside or not – it’s most likely just a closet, he knows, but he figures he should see everything before considering renting the place. Sighing softly, he approaches the door and quickly pulls it open.

            His jaw drops when he sees what’s behind it.

            It’s another bedroom, only this one has to be at least three times larger than the other, with a walk in closer on the left and a full body mirror attached to the wall on his right. Eyes widening behind his glasses, he takes a few steps forward, spinning around to analyze every inch of the space. In his mind, he can already picture how he would use this space to his advantage, how he could arrange his stuff, all the things he could do—

            “Holy _shit!”_

            Startled by the sudden voice, Richie stumbles back as he turns to face the bedroom door. In the doorway is Mike, sporting the same friendly grin that he had before, and besides him is another man with a slimmer build but a taller body. This man has blue eyes and soft looking hair with a few strands falling in his face, and he’s clad in a loose white T-Shirt and black skinny jeans. Though it’s kind of hard to notice these things about him while he’s staring at Richie as if his fucking hair is on fire.

            “Um…” Richie trails off, confused as he weakly raises a hand to wave. “Hi?”

            The man spins around abruptly and whispers something to Mike, voice too quiet to be heard. Richie watches in mild bewilderment as Mike just grins wider and nods once in reply to whatever it is he was told. Then, acting is if everything is completely normal, the man faces Richie again with a beaming smile. “Hi!” he greets, stepping forward and sticking out his hand. “Sorry about that. The bathroom door was shut and I just assumed that meant you were in there, so when I saw you it scared me. I’m Bill!”

            “Richie,” he carefully responds, shaking Bill’s hand quickly before releasing it and putting his hands back into his pockets. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, he glances around the room again and, desperate to get rid of the odd tension hanging in the air, he asks, “Um, I thought this was supposed to be a one bedroom apartment?”

            “It is,” Mike nods, leaning against the wall by the door. “The other room is technically an office, which is why it doesn’t have a closet or anything. Most people just make the offices into guest rooms or something, though. It’s up to you how you use it.”

            With a hum, Richie spins around again, taking in his surroundings and cocking his head to the side in consideration. “This seems too nice to be so cheap,” he states, approaching the closet in curiosity.

            “We keep our prices low because we can afford to keep the place running without people pay a fortune. Financial issues shouldn’t stop anyone from having a reliable home,” Bill says. Amusement clear in his voice, he adds, “And that’s a six by eight closet, in case you were wondering.”

            Richie murmurs a soft _wow_ under his breath as he faces the two men. “What are the people like?”

            Mike blinks, but his smile doesn’t waver. “What do you mean?”

            “Are there a bunch of parties and shit, or is it pretty quiet?”

            “Oh!” Bill exclaims, laughing lightly. “No, none of that! There may occasionally be some loud music or a group of friends being too noisy, but if you call the front desk and let us know, someone will go make sure they keep it down.

            As if to prove Bill’s statement, Richie can faintly hear a voice shout, “What the _fuck,_ Lucas?!” from upstairs.

            It seems as though Bill is trying to glare through the ceiling as he explains, “That would be Dustin. He gets competitive when playing video games, but he keeps quiet after someone knocks on the door and tells him to lower the volume.”

            “Fair enough,” Richie says with a nod. “I’ll take it.”

 

 

 

 

            “You’re a fucking asshole,” the angry man spits, his arms crossed over his chest and a childish pout on his lips as he slouches down in his seat. His face is red with frustration, nose slightly crinkled and brows furrowed as he adds, “And a cheater, by the way.”

            The other man in the room, a bit taller and much more relaxed, rolls his eyes with a wide, amused grin. “It’s a _game,_ Dustin. It’s not a big deal. You lost, I won. Boohoo.”

            Huffing, Dustin glares at his friend (who is most definitely _not_ his friend anymore) and murmurs, “Next time I’ll bet you your fucking life, Lucas. Let’s see if it’s a big deal then, you fucking di—”

            Abruptly, Lucas shushes him, sitting up straight and leaning forward in his seat, eyes going wide. Dustin raises his eyebrows in curiosity, frustration forgotten, but he makes sure to bite back the urge to ask questions – after knowing Lucas for so long, he knows that interrupting the man while he’s trying to listen to something will only result in getting punched. Besides, it only takes a few seconds before Lucas looks at him, jaw unhinged in shock.

            “What?” Dustin asks, sitting up nervously. “What’d you hear? What’s going on?”

            “We need to talk to Will,” Lucas breathes out, pushing himself to his feet so suddenly that he pitches forward from the momentum, nearly toppling over and onto the ground. Alarmed, Dustin gets up and wraps a hand around his wrist to keep him up, helping him maintain balance.

            Beneath his grip, he can feel Lucas shaking. Worry blooming hot and angry in his chest, he demands, “Lucas, what the hell is going on?”

            Blinking away what looks to be tears, Lucas tells him, “It worked. We found him.”

            “We…” Dustin trails off, confused, only for understanding to snap into place so suddenly that it sucks the air out of his lungs. “Wait. Downstairs? The apartment? It worked?”

            “Yeah,” Lucas breathes. “And that’s great, but that means someone’s moving into Stan’s apartment.” Dustin releases a long, loud breath at that, and with more force behind his words, Lucas repeats, “We need to go talk to Will. _Now.”_

 

 

 

 

            Her hair is longer now than it had been when she got here, curling around the nape of her neck and falling into her face in little waves of red. Usually, it frames her face nicely, but right now it stays tucked behind her ears as she stares down at the paper in front of her. She chews lightly on the end of the pen in her hand, brows furrowed as she tries to make sense of what she’s reading, before finally letting out an aggravated sigh and leaning back in her chair. “This is bullshit,” she states, pouting. “Taxes are bullshit. Actually, humans in general are bullshit.”

            “You’re not wrong,” Will answers absentmindedly from the kitchen, where he’s currently hovering over a large pot filled with boiling liquid on the stove. Frowning, he looks over his shoulder to meet her gaze and says, “This smells more like a potion than it does soup. Are you sure you wrote down the right recipe, Bev?”

            Beverly shrugs, gesturing vaguely towards the large book sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen table from where she’s sitting. “You said it was page three fifteen in your cookbook, so I wrote down what was on page three fifteen. Don’t blame me, blame your dead grandmother for being a shitty cook. I did my job.”

            Looking at the book Beverly had waved towards, Will lets his shoulders slump in defeat. _“Beverly,”_ he whines childishly. “That’s the wrong book! The cookbook is in the pantry!”

            “Well I didn’t know that!” Beverly exclaims, throwing her hands in the air defensively. “Jesus, Byers, I’ve only been on this planet for three months, you have to be specific!”

            Will parts his lips to respond, but is quickly interrupted by a round of urgent knocks on the front door. Sighing, he murmurs, “Can you get me the right recipe while I answer that, please?”

            “Only because you asked nicely,” Beverly responds, happy to push herself away from the table, casting a glare at the paper resting on the surface before walking towards the pantry to do as asked.

            Releasing another soft sigh, Will leaves Beverly alone to write out the correct recipe and approaches the door, feeling somewhat wary from how energetic the knocking had been. When he pulls it open, he sees two very familiar faces on the other side. “Oh,” he says, caught off guard by the unexpected visit, brows furrowing together at the pure panic in their eyes. “Um. What’s up? Is something wrong?”

            “Someone’s moving into Stan’s apartment!” Dustin exclaims, only to be immediately shushed by Lucas. Grimacing, Dustin begins to chew anxiously on his thumbnail, adding, “We know that’s a good thing, and, like, we don’t want to pretend it isn’t, but Stan…”

            Will nods, stepping aside to let the two of them enter. “Yeah. We have to talk to him.”

            “Talk to who?” Beverly asks, poking her head through the kitchen doorway. Her eyes light up at the sight of their guests as Will shuts the door behind them. “Oh, hey! What are you guys doing here?” As soon as she asks, though, she freezes, tilting her head to the side with a slight frown. “Oh, boy, it’s tense in here. What’s going on?”

            “Someone’s moving into Stan’s apartment,” Will explains.

            Wincing, Beverly murmurs, “Oh, yikes, that’s gonna suck. Does Stan know yet?”

            “Not yet,” Dustin says.

            “Which is why,” Lucas adds, “we came here.”

            Will licks his lower lip nervously, looking back at Beverly to say, “I’ll make this as fast as possible, so please try not to break anything while I’m gone.”

            Rolling her eyes, Beverly nods. “You have no faith in me, William,” she says, raising a hand to wave them away. “Go on, tell Stan. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

 

 

 

 

            “Sorry for the mess on my desk,” Bill apologizes upon leading Richie into his office. He clears off the piles of paperwork as Richie sits down, taking a seat opposite from him once he’s done. Clapping he hands together, he exclaims, “Alright, so! You would like to rent apartment 3B. We have to run a quick background and credit check just to make sure things look okay, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” He rambles through a few little details, such as the expected rent and things like that, as he rifled through his desk drawer and pulls out a rental agreement. Clicking his pen, he looks back up at Richie and asks, “When will you be moving in?”

            Taking a moment to ponder over this, considering his work schedule and any other previous engagements he’s promised to go to, Richie answers, “This weekend, probably. Start Friday, hopefully have all my stuff brought over during the weekend.”

            Bill hums, scribbling down Friday’s date before spinning the paper around to face Richie and circling a section of the text. “These are our regulations and guidelines for living here, if you could just read them over and sign to show you understand them when you’re done.” He places the pen besides the paper and leans back expectantly.

            Nodding, Richie picks up the pen and sits forward to read over the list. For the most part, it’s self-explanatory – no smoking, no parties, keep excessive volume to a minimum, and other things like that – but there are a few certain ones that catch his eye for being quite… odd, to say the least. For instance:

 

_No fire usage indoors unless unintentional or unavoidable (contact one of the managers/owners for approval or necessary adjustments)._

_No creating indoor pools unless it is needed (contact one of the managers/owners for approval or necessary adjustments.)_

_Any pets that are bigger in size than you are not prohibited but are frowned upon and require a raise in rent prices as well as a signed form assuring you will cover the cost of any damage your pet may cause to yours and anyone else’s apartment._

 

            There are a few other strange ones as well, but he chooses not to dwell on them, rationalizing that the oddly specific rules are there for a reason. With another quick scan of the words, he signs his name and looks up at Bill. “Alright, what’s next?”

            Leaning forward again, Bill points to another section of the paper and says, “Sign here to consent to a background and credit check and you’re good to go! Jot down your number at the top of the page and I’ll give you a call tomorrow to let you know if there’s any problems, but other than that, you’re all set to start moving in on Friday!”

            Richie can’t help the grin that grows on his face as he signs the line Bill had pointed to, setting the pen down and sliding the rental agreement back across the desk. “Thank you so much!”

            “Thank _you_ for choosing our building,” Bill responds chirpily.

            When Richie gets in his car and makes his way back to the hotel he’s been staying at for the last few weeks, he feels an excited flutter in his chest. Finally, after months of looking, he found a new home.

 

 

 

 

            “This is such bullshit.”

            Beverly cocks her head to the side with a smile. “Hey, that sounds familiar.” The man that had spoken glares at her, though the gesture is half-hearted with his naturally gentle and kind eyes. Still, Beverly raises her hands in front of her in defense before explaining, “No, seriously. I said the same thing earlier. Like, ten minutes before you got here. No joke.”

            Ben huffs, shifting his glare to the pot in front of him as he stirs the contents inside. “I didn’t sign up for this, okay? I just wanted to give Will his book back, and I somehow got roped into making your dinner. It’s complete bullshit.”

            “Well, tough luck,” Beverly shrugs, her hands dropping to her sides. “I’m hungry, Will’s busy, and I don’t know how to cook yet. You were in the right place at the wrong time, pal.” She leans forward, sighing happily at the heavenly smell of her soon-to-be dinner. “Not to be rude or anything, but is there any way to make this cook faster? Will says I can’t have snacks before meals and I’m going to die if I don’t eat soon.”

            Rolling his eyes, Ben murmurs, “Looks like you’ve caught on to how human’s exaggerate. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

            Before Bev can respond, a sudden thump sounds from Will’s office, followed by a loud, “Holy shit!”

            “Was that Dustin?” Ben asks, looking over at the closed door in confusion. “What’s he doing here?” Beverly falters, then presses her lips together and shakes her head, causing Ben to groan. “Alright, look, if I’m gonna make you your food because Will’s busy, I should at least have the right to know what he’s doing, don’t you think?”

            Beverly sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay, fine, but I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a secret or not so don’t tell Will that I told you.” Ben nods in understanding, putting the stove onto a lower heat and placing the lid on the pot in order to let it simmer. “The apartment worked, we found the guy we were looking for, but that means someone’s moving into Stan’s place and they wanted to let Stan know before he found out the hard way. Dustin and Lucas are both in there with Will to break the news.”

            Ben’s jaw drops, mouth forming a silent _oh_. He lets out a low whistle, a small frown settling on his lips as he casts a sympathetic look towards Will’s office door. “Shit. Poor Stan. The past few months have been really hard on him.”

            “Yeah,” Beverly agrees, letting out a slow, quiet breath as she follows Ben’s gaze. “I mean, his whole life was ripped away from him. To have to throw everything away the way he did, just…” She shakes her head. “Shit’s gotta be hard, you know?”

            With a small _tsk_ , Ben turns back to check on the soup as he mumbles, “I wonder how he’s taking the news.”

 

 

 

 

            Lucas lets out a loud yelp as he dives away from the table hurtling towards him. He lands on the ground with a thud, the table coming to a stop mere inches away from the wall as Will sighs, flicking his hand to the side and letting his magic guide the table back to where it had been before, settling it gently on the ground. “Holy shit!” Dustin exclaims, wide eyes narrowing down at his friend. “Stan, I know this sucks, buddy, but you have to be careful!”

            “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Lucas murmurs as he pushes himself back onto his feet, smoothing his hands over his clothes as he does so.

            Dustin casts a glare towards Lucas before turning to face Stan again. “Seriously, man. You need to calm down.”

            Stan shakes his head, his figure floating higher as he angrily huffs. “This is my _home,”_ he cries, throwing his arms into the air. “I lived there for _decades_ , and just like that they give it away? Let someone else take it? And for what, exactly? For- for _love?_  For _Eddie?_ It’s not fucking fair!”

            “They had to, Stan,” Will says softly. “In the eyes of the public, you _died_ , okay? And I know there are things we can do to work around it, like we did last time, but with technology getting better and better, it takes longer to get these things sorted out. They couldn’t keep renting the place to you when hospital records show that you’re not alive and you know it. That would get people’s attention and the building would be put under investigation, and that can’t happen. Besides, he… Eddie’s been looking for him for so long, Stan. He should have talked to you before doing this, and I know it sucks, but this is a good thing. You have every right to be mad, but you _have_ to know that this is a good thing.”

            For a moment, Stan stares Will down, his jaw clenched and his fingers curled into his palms to make tight fists, but then his resolve crumbles as he accepts the situation for what it is. He lowers himself to the floor and falls to his knees with a sob, head bowing forward and his hair falling in front of his face. Immediately, Dustin scrambles forward to kneel next to him, a hand on his shoulder and soft words of comfort on his lips. Lucas releases a long breath and gives Will a gentle smile. “Thank you,” he says.

            Will nods, returning the smile. “It’s what I do.”

 

 

 

 

            “You won’t fucking believe what just happened.”

            Max sighs heavily, her eyes skimming over the open book in front of her as she disinterestedly responds, “What happened, Bill?”

            “It worked.”

            “What—” Max stops, realization dawning on her features as she blinks and slowly looks away from the book to stare at Bill with wide eyes. “Wait, it… are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Bill grins, letting the door to Max’s apartment shut behind him as he nods. Max’s jaw drops in shock as she pushes herself to her feet. “Are you- are you serious?”

            “Ask Mike,” Bill says, practically vibrating with excitement. “We did it. We found him.”

            Max leaps to her feet, her hands gripping onto her hair as she shakes her head in disbelief. “Holy shit! Oh my god!” She lets out an incredulous laugh, her lips stretching out into a grin that matches Bill’s. “What’s his name? Have you told Eddie yet?”

            “Richard Tozier,” Bill answers. “Eddie was right, he was born into the same family and has the same first name. Reincarnation at its finest, if I do say so myself. And no, we haven’t told Eddie yet.”

            “Then what the hell are you doing here?!” Max exclaims, already moving around Bill and slipping on the first pair of shoes she can find. Judging by the tight squeeze, she believes they belong to Jane, but that’s the last of her concerns right now. “Let’s go give him the good news!”

            Bill makes an excited noise in the back of his throat, following after as Max leads the way into the hallway and sprints towards the stairs. The two of them climb the steps as fast as they possibly can, panting by the time they reach the sixth floor and clamber towards the third door on the right. Both of them reach forward to knock at the same time, resulting in an awkward fumbling of hands against the door until it finally opens up to reveal a confused woman standing on the other side. Upon seeing them, she only becomes more confused, asking, “What are you two doing here?”

            Shifting her weight back and forth from one foot to the other in an attempt to keep calm, Max says, “I know you’re having your meeting thing with Eddie right now, but we need to talk to him. Like, _now,_ Jane. It’s important, I promise.”

            “I…” Jane trails off, scanning over Max’s features. Suddenly, she freezes, a smile stretching over her lips slowly. “Wait. Did you…?”

            “Yeah,” Bill says, grinning so wide that it makes his face look ready to split in half. “We did it, Jane. We found him.”

            Jane’s eyes widen as she spins around to yell, “Eddie! Come here!”

 

 

 

 

            By the time that Lucas and Dustin leave, Ben has the soup finished and dished up in two bowls. “You’re my savior,” Will says with a grin, sliding into his seat at the dining room table. “After dealing with all of that, I really didn’t want to cook.”

            Ben places a bowl filled to the brim in front of him with a nod and a soft smile. “It’s no problem. I mean, you’re the only general helper in the building, it’s gotta be exhausting having people always knocking on your door and asking you to do stuff for them.” He gives Beverly her bowl and shrugs, adding, “Besides, I like cooking, especially when there’s a recipe to follow. I don’t mind.”

            “Get a bowl,” Beverly says, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. “Join us.”

            “Yeah!” Will agrees with an enthusiastic nod. “You made it, you should get to enjoy it, too.”

            “Oh, I, uh…” Ben chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he casts his gaze over his shoulder. “Um, thanks, but I should probably be going. I have to run some errands for Mike, and I was supposed to meet up with Eddie to—” He cuts off, brows furrowing together. “Actually, in light of what happened, I’m pretty sure Eddie won’t want to go through with our weekly spice trades, so scratch that last part. Still, though, I have to go help out Mike, so I can’t stay.”

            Beverly huffs and rolls her eyes, though her smile remains genuine. “Alright, fine, Busy McGee. But we’ll treat you to dinner tomorrow, alright? To say thank you for helping out.”

            Laughing lightly, Ben nods and says, “Okay, I look forward to that.” He then looks to Will, brows raised. “You’ll be cooking, though, right?”

            “Dick,” Beverly murmurs.

            “Hey,” Ben defends, raising his hands in the air, “you’re the one who said you don’t know how to cook yet! I’m just looking out for my own health, You’re still new to this whole acting like a human thing, remember?”

            Will chuckles. “I got it, don’t worry.”

            Grinning, Ben shoves his hands in his pocket and ducks his head sheepishly. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then?”

            Just as Will is parting his lips to respond in agreement, the door bursts open, and Eddie stumbles in, eyes red-rimmed and overall appearance askew. He’s breathing heavily, having likely sprinted down the stairs to get here, and locks his gaze with Will. “I think Stan knew him,” he chokes out, and his voice is thick, like he can’t decide if he’s ecstatic, emotional, or furious. “He goes by Richie. Stan met a guy named Richie months ago and always told me about him. I think- I think Stan knew exactly who he was the entire fucking time and didn’t fucking tell me.”

            _Definitely furious,_ Will thinks. “That’s… wow. Okay. What do you need me to do?”

            “I need to talk to Stan,” Eddie answers through gritted teeth. Ben takes a subtle step back, looking very timid despite the heat of Eddie’s anger not being pointed towards him. At the table, Beverly glances at Eddie in mild interest, slurping away at her soup. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Eddie adds, “And I need you to stop me from _fucking killing him.”_

            Will blinks, movements slow. He looks down at his soup with a forlorn expression and lets out a long, resigned sigh before dropping his spoon and getting to his feet. “I can do that.”

 

 

 

 

            “I wasn’t sure—”

            “Oh, bullshit, you weren’t sure! You had to have known—”

            “No, no, I didn’t know, not at first!”

            Eddie splutters, his eyes narrowed down into a livid glare, and Will has never seen the expression _stormy eyes_ more accurately depicted than right now. “Wh- _not at first?_ Okay, so- so what? You knew a guy, figured out he’s the same fucking person that I’ve been trying to find for over a century, and you decided to keep it to yourself? What the _fuck,_ Stanley?!”

            Crossing his arms over his chest defensively, Stan sticks his chin out and says, “Yeah, well, you used my apartment to try and find him without asking me! It’s not like you’re a god damn saint, Kaspbrak. You shouldn’t have done that.”

            “Are you _fucking kidding me—”_

            Will steps forward, already tired of the yelling. He can feel a headache forming behind his eyes from the sheer volume of it, not to mention that today has already been stressful beyond belief. Nudging an elbow into Eddie’s side to cut him off, Will tells him, “Stan’s right. What he did was worse, but that doesn’t make what you did okay, either. You’re both in the wrong. Now keep your voices down and talk this out like adults before I kick you out of here. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you two are almost the oldest people here. The only people older than you are the god damn apocalypse, so stop acting like children.”

            For a long moment, Eddie and Stan maintain eye contact, both of their faces twisted up in anger. Will is just beginning to consider pushing Eddie out of his office entirely when his shoulders slump and he looks down with a reluctant sigh, murmuring, “Fine.”

            “I’ll be nice if he’ll be nice,” Stan says, but his voice is much less choppy now, more relaxed as he also lets the tension bleed out of his body.

            “Good,” Will states, nodding. He takes a step back again, almost stumbling over the makeshift bed on the floor – more like an unorganized pile of blankets and pillows, seeing as Will already gave his air mattress to Beverly – and tells them, “Now discuss. Like adults, please.”

            As Will takes a seat on the surface of his desk, which is still shoved carelessly against the wall in order to make room for Stan, Eddie inhales a long breath, squaring his shoulders. “I just- I don’t get it,” he murmurs, brows drawn together and head shaking meekly. “I mean… okay. I shouldn’t have used your apartment like that, but I was getting desperate. I didn’t want to miss my chance to find him for another generation, so I just… I figured, since you wouldn’t be able to use it for at least another six months, that it’d be a great opportunity. I should have asked you first, but I was so scared that you’d say no and I’d have to think of another way to try and find him, so I- I decided it’d be easier to ask for forgiveness then permission. That was incredibly stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

            Stan studies Eddie for a minute, his jaw clenching once again, but his eyes are soft and sad. He licks his lower lip nervously, averts his gaze to the wall, and very softly admits, “I didn’t want you to find him.”

            Eddie looks back up at Stan, a flash of anger in his eyes that quickly melts into a look of hurt and confusion. Then, in a pained, quiet voice that makes Stan flinch away guiltily, he asks, “Why?”

            “You’re the only person who understands,” Stan tells him thickly, his eyes fluttering shut and features scrunching up. “No one else gets it, okay? To have to live like this with no way out, to be stuck, no matter how badly you get hurt. What it’s like to feel like you’re dying and have no choice but to suffer through it because someone else decided that you should live forever. I…” He trails off, stubbornly wiping away the tears that roll down his cheeks. “The thought of not having someone who understands, to… to lose you one day because you found your way out of it… it’s selfish, I know, but I just- I didn’t want to be the one to give you your ticket to breaking your curse. It just reminds me that I don’t have a way of breaking mine, you know? But it’s… that wasn’t okay, and I know it. I’m really sorry, Eddie.”

            “Oh, Stan,” Eddie murmurs sadly, lurching forward to pull his friend into a hug. Though he makes a noise of protest, Stan quickly returns the gesture, burying his face into Eddie’s shoulder and letting out a sound that’s equal parts humorless laughter and a sob. Blinking away his own tears, Eddie tells him, “We’re working on it, okay? Ben and I, we just need to find a water witch and then we’ll be able to break it. I promised you that when I met you, and I promise you that now.”

            With more laughter, this time coming out in a condescending bark, Stan pulls back from the embrace and wipes his cheeks with his sleeves as he practically sneers, “That’s bullshit! You can’t promise _anything!_ You’ve been trying to complete a trio for longer than you’ve been trying to find your soulmate, and you still found him first. The odds don’t exactly point in my favor here.”

            “Yeah, well, fuck the odds,” Eddie snaps instantly. He softens quickly, not wanting his frustration to be misconstrued towards Stan. “Even if we can’t find a water witch, we’ll figure it out. I don’t give a damn how hard it’ll be. We’ll get it done, Stan. Cross my heart.”

            Stan hesitates, his lower lip trembling, before finally nodding. “Your southern comes out when you say that,” he says, scrubbing the tears from his face and offering a wobbly smile.

            A little shocked by that statement, Eddie lets out a strangled little chuckle, his brows twitching up. “Does it really? I thought my accent was gone by now. I’ve been living up north since the fifties.”

            “It is, mostly,” Stan shrugs. “It just comes out with certain words and phrases.”

            “Good to know,” Eddie hums.

            Still sitting in the corner of the room, legs swinging where they’re dangling over the edge, Will clears his throat, looking a little misty eyed himself. “So, are you guys good now?”

            “Yeah, we’re good,” Eddie answers, offering Will a grateful grin. “Thanks, Byers.”

            “Don’t mention it, Kaspbrak,” Will says dismissively, waving a hand in front of him as he slides off of his desk and makes his way towards the door. “If you want to make it up to me, though, don’t interrupt my dinner again. I’m _starving._ Which reminds me, actually. If you’re in the mood to eat, Stan, Ben made some of my grandma’s stew. I know you don’t need it but the offer still stands.”

            Stan lets out a little _ooo_ sound, visibly brightening. “Actually, I might take you up on that offer.”

            Opening the door and spinning around to walk backwards through the doorway, Will jabs a thumb over his shoulder and tells him, “I’ll get you a bowl now. Come out when you’re ready.”

            “That’s my cue to get out of here,” Eddie says, him and Stan both watching as Will disappears into the living room, the sound of his voice drifting back to them as he says something to Beverly that draws out her warm, gentle laugh. Smiling to himself, Eddie adds, “I have to go figure out how the hell I’m going to approach this. Bill said Richie’s moving in Friday, so I have a couple days to think about it, but… I don’t know. How do you tell someone that you’ve been in love when them since the eighteen hundreds? Should I even tell him at first? I have no fucking clue.”

            Stan looks back to Eddie, his features vulnerable and kind, now that he’s confronted the real reason why he was upset. “Just so you know, Richie’s a… really good guy. Like, a perfect-for-you kind of guy.”

            Meeting Stan’s gaze with shimmery eyes and a small, emotional smile, Eddie asks, “He is?”

            “Yeah, he is,” Stan says softly. “I met him, like, six or seven months ago at the restaurant I was working at before… well. You know what happened. But, uh- he was there with some really loud, rude people, and it was clear that he didn’t feel very comfortable sitting with them, so I slipped him a note when I refilled his drink telling him that if he could find an excuse to get away for a minute I’d sneak him out the back entrance. He didn’t take the offer, but he did slip away and sit with me in the kitchen for a bit. Told me that he was only having dinner with them because his dad asked him to, and that he didn’t like it but it was just a one time thing. Then they were at the restaurant again the next week, and the week after that, and I just kept giving him a chance to leave but he never took it.

            “He told me more, though, with each dinner. He told me that his dad’s some big shot lawyer and his coworkers thought their sons would get along, which was why he was having the dinners in the first place. I guess his dad kept asking him to go, and he just… doesn’t know how to say no. After the fourth dinner, we swapped numbers and started hanging out, ‘cause he doesn’t really have any friends other than the people his parents make him hang out with. Last I heard, he was still living with his parents and doing what they wanted despite him having a job that pays him more than enough to make it on his own. If he’s looking for a place to live, I guess that means he finally stood up to them and left, which is good, but something had to have changed to make him want to.”

            Sounding a bit timid, Eddie points out, “You died. Maybe something about losing a friend made him decide to live his life the way he wants.”

            An odd look shadows over Stan’s features, like that possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until now. “Maybe,” he murmurs thoughtfully. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if physically clearing his thoughts, and says, “I have a picture of him from when we were hanging out a couple months back. Do you… do you want to see it?”

            “Can I?” Eddie squeaks, his eyes going unbelievably wide and welling with tears.

            “Yeah,” Stan nods, and he feels beyond guilty for ever trying to stop this from happening while knowing how important this is to his friend. Shuffling over to the makeshift bed on the floor, he digs through the sheets and withdraws his phone, grimacing down at it when he turns it on. “I haven’t switched numbers yet,” he explains quickly in response to Eddie’s confused noise that rumbles from the back of his throat. “I only had a few friends who didn’t know the truth about me, but they all think I’m dead and they’ve been sending really sad texts and stuff. I’ve just been avoiding looking at them, but I still see the notifications whenever I’m on my phone.” He shakes his head again, clearing his throat and quickly tapping away at the screen to get to his photo album. After another minute of scrolling, he murmurs a quiet, “Here,” and hands the device over.

            Eddie takes it into shaky hands, having to blink a few times to clear his vision before focusing on the image displayed on the screen. Immediately, he heaves in a sharp inhale, his heart stuttering in his chest and tears rolling down his cheek. “He…” Eddie trails off, letting out in incredulous laugh. “He looks like he did, way back then. I knew- I knew that he would look similar, because that’s what reincarnation does, but he- this- this is _exactly_ what he looked like, Stan. He looked _exactly_ like this.”

            With a gentle smile, Stan takes his phone back and says, “I’ll send it to you, okay? Now go, eat something and get some rest. I’ll come over tomorrow and help you figure out how to handle this.”

            “I don’t need to eat or get any rest,” Eddie defends weakly, but Stan gives him an unimpressed look that causes him to sigh in reluctance. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Stan?”

            “Yeah?”

            Eddie grins, his eyes shining with gratitude and love for his friend. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

            Richie lets out a long sigh, his phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear as he carries the last box of the day up the steps. “I totally get what you’re trying to say, Mom, but I’m not changing my mind on this,” he murmurs into the phone. Despite the stairwell being empty, he still chooses to keep his voice low to avoid anyone overhearing him. Using his foot to push open the door leading to the hallway, he listens intently to what his mother has to say, lips tugging down in a frown. “Okay, but—”

            He’s quickly cut off by Maggie speaking more, and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping at her. While he may love his parents to death, they sure do know how to piss him off.

            “You’re not listening to me,” he tells her once he’s made it inside his new apartment, no longer bothering to keep his voice lowered now that he’s in a more private area. Sliding the box onto the counter, he brings a now free hand up to hold the phone in place and slumps his shoulders with a loud, exasperated exhale. “No, no, I get that, I do, but I don’t- I don’t _want_ that. I _never_ wanted that.”

            Deciding that he doesn’t want this conversation to delay him from unpacking, he pulls his phone back and puts the call on speaker before setting the device on the counter. “I just don’t understand what your plan is, Richie,” his mother’s voice echoes around the vacant space. There’s no furniture set up yet, only piles of boxes stacked in the center of the living room and scattered around various other spots on the floor. “What’s your goal, here? What are you going to do?”

            Richie frowns, pulling open the top of the box he just carried in and scanning over the kitchen cabinets to decide where he wants to put what. “I don’t know yet,” he answers honestly, pulling out the plates stacked in the box and setting them on the counter. “But that’s the point. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know what I don’t _want_ to do. I don’t _want_ to be a marketing manager, or a sales manager, or a public relations manager, or whatever the fuck you and dad want me to do. I didn’t want an English degree in the first place and I don’t want any of the jobs that come with it.”

            “But it’s practical,” Maggie argues – the same argument her and Wentworth have been using since the very beginning. To be frank, Richie’s sick and tired of hearing it. “Your father didn’t want to be a lawyer, but it pays well and it’s given us, his family, more opportunities than what other jobs would have. You have to think about the _future,_ Richie.”

            “Well, I already have the fucking degree, so in the future, I can change my mind,” Richie states coldly, rolling his eyes to himself as he tosses the empty box to the side, making a mental note to recycle it later. “I don’t give a shit about the future, alright? I care about the now, and right now, I’m fucking _miserable._ I hate my job, I hate the guys dad keeps making me hang out with, I hate living at home like some fucking teenager, and honestly, I’m starting to just hate myself for letting it happen. So, yeah, I don’t have a plan, and this is probably stupid, but if being stupid makes me happy, then I’ll be the biggest dumbass in the entire fucking world. I’d rather be that then keep living like I have been.”

            For a long moment, he gets no response, to the point where he fears his mother may have just hung up on him. But then, sounding much softer and loving, Maggie says, “Okay. I support you, Richie. I always will. Just… if anything starts going wrong, or you need help for any reason, call us.”

            He leans against the counter, eyes fluttering shut.

            _I needed you when my friend died,_ he thinks bitterly, only to swallow that bitterness back. It’s not fair to pin that struggle on his parents. He never introduced them to Stan for a reason. There was no way for them to know he was dealing with losing someone he cared about.

            “I will,” he tells her instead, voice a little bit thicker than what he wants it to be. After clearing his throat, he tries again. “I’ll call you if I need you. Promise. I love you, Mom.”

            “I love you, too, Richie.”

            Opening his eyes again, Richie quickly swipes his phone off the counter and ends the call, letting out a long, strained sigh as a silence settles over the room. Part of him feels pathetic, but that’s nothing new – being twenty-four and only just now moving out of his parents place is kind of embarrassing, at least in his own eyes. If he’d been able to stand his own ground sooner, he would have been out of there years ago, but he’s always felt obligated to do what they want him to. That’s why he went to so many dinners with other kids of his father’s coworkers, why he went on every date his parents set him up on, and why he let them pay for him to get the degree of their choice. Maybe that was naive of him, but he’s changing things now. He’s moving out, starting over, making a new life.

            And that’s why the other part of him feels elated, because this is _exciting_. It’s fucking terrifying beyond all belief, but it’s also exhilarating in a way he’s only ever experienced once before, and that was when he met Stan, the first person he ever became friends with because he wanted to be friends with him, not because his parents told him to. It’s the pure adrenaline that comes with existing for yourself rather than for someone else. It’s entirely new to him, but he already loves it.

            A sudden knock on the door makes him jump and spin around with wide, bugged out eyes. Standing in the doorway is a man that looks to be about his age, perhaps a little bit older, offering a sheepish smile and quickly gushing out, “Oh, god, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

            “Um.” Richie coughs into his fist, shaking his head briskly and giving himself a moment to calm his racing heart. Once the initial shock of the unannounced presence passes by, he manages to get out an oddly meek, “It’s, uh- it’s fine.”

            “It’s totally not fine,” the man says, laughing lightly, guilt still shining in his eyes. He steps forward with his hands extended in front of him, offering a wide grin as he tells him, “I’m Will. I live on the floor above you with my friend Beverly.”

            Shaking Will’s hand, Richie replies, “Oh, cool. I’m Richie.”

            “I know,” Will states simply, only for his smile to fall as soon as he realizes what he said. Richie drops his hand, brows furrowed together in confusion. Eyes going wide, Will quickly exclaims, “No, no, not in a creepy way or anything! I didn’t, like, stalk you or some shit, I promise. I’m just friends with the owners of the place, and Bill told me your name when he said there was someone moving in. God, that sounded so bad, I’m so sorry.” He lets out another laugh, this one more strained and forced as he runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Wow. This isn’t a good first impression, is it?”

            Unable to help it, Richie snorts, but he relaxes quickly upon seeing the genuine distress on Will’s features, a clear indication that he isn’t lying. “It’s not,” he agrees, offering a kind smile. “But I’ve seen worse, so you’re fine, don’t worry about it. Bill and Mike seem like the kind of guys to be friends with a lot of people so it doesn’t surprise me that you are.”

            Looking relieved, Will nods, brightening once he realizes that Richie doesn’t seem to weirded out by him. “Yeah, they are,” he says in a chirpy, upbeat voice. “They’re probably some of the coolest guys you’ll ever meet. They’re friends with pretty much everyone in the building. So are Max and Jane, the other owners, but they didn’t mention you so I’m guessing you didn’t meet them. Don’t worry, though, they’re just as cool, maybe even cooler.”

            Richie hums, leaning back against the counter behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. “Not to be rude or anything, but, uh… why are you here?”

            “Oh! Right!” Will shakes his head, looking bewildered with himself for having forgotten his original intentions for his visit. “Sorry, after fucking up like that, I completely spaced. Um, I mostly just wanted to introduce myself, just ‘cause I like knowing everyone who lives here, but I was also gonna offer some assistance with unpacking? I have a lot of good friends who live here and would be willing to help out, even if it’s just carrying stuff up the stairs or putting things away. I just- I don’t know if you have anyone to help you or not, and I figured it’d be a good chance to meet some people who live here, maybe make some friends. If not, then I can leave and you can pretend I never stopped by in the first place. I just figured it’d be nice to offer, you know? Just in case.”

            “Oh, uh…” Richie trails off, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he ponders over the offer. On one hand, he kind of wants to do this by himself, if only to prove that he doesn’t need his parents assistance for every little thing he does. On the other hand, though, pretty much all of his stuff is here, save for the bigger pieces of furniture that’s being brought over by paid movers in about an hour, and he’d like to at least have the boxes moved into the proper rooms before they get here. Besides, accepting the help of generous people is much different than living under his parents expectations. Coming to a conclusion, he nods and says, “I’d appreciate that, actually. If you and your friends really don’t mind…?”

            “Not at all!” Will assures, grinning excitedly. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder and says, “I have to go let everybody know, but I’m pretty sure nobody has plans so if you just give me a time then I’ll make sure we’re all down here by then.”

            Returning Will’s grin with a slightly more timid one, Richie replies, “No time necessary. Whenever anyone’s available is fine.”

            “We’re all available now,” Will says. “So, give me, like, twenty minutes maybe? Some of them might get down here before me, so maybe fifteen or ten. Not too long.”

            Richie nods again. “Sounds good.”

 

 

 

 

            The last time Eddie saw him, it was the late 1800’s.

            In other words, a long fucking time ago.

            Now, he knows, realistically, that this is not the same person he knew, but this is the same soul. Different body, different heart, different era of time, but the same exact soul that Eddie knew way back then. The same soul he loved dearly. The same soul that his mother punished him for being in love with.

            However, it still takes his breath away, walking into what had been Stan’s apartment a mere two months ago and seeing the face of someone he hasn’t seen in over a century. Being up close and in person, Eddie can pin point the small differences – the slope of his nose isn’t the same, his cheeks are a little bit rounder, brows a little bit bushier, overall appearance a bit more timid than the boy Eddie knew. But even those little things can’t distract Eddie from the fact that this is, without a doubt, Richard Tozier.

            Deciding that he’s been standing there long enough without making his presence known, Eddie shuffles forward and clears his throat. Immediately, Richie, who had been leaning against the counter with his head angled down towards his phone screen, jumps up and makes an odd, strangled noise in the back of his throat as he faces Eddie with wide eyes. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip to remind himself how this has to go, Eddie offer what he hopes is a sheepish smile and says, “Sorry.”

            “Wow,” Richie breathes, eyes going even wider as they take Eddie in. The action isn’t at all subtle, which almost breaks Eddie’s resolve, but then he shakes his head and glances away, his cheeks burning a faint red. “Um, it’s fine. Are you, uh- are you one of Will’s friends?”

            “That I am,” Eddie nods, and it feels so odd, having to act like a stranger despite being far from it, but Stan told him that Richie has no knowledge about any of the secrets this world has, let alone what this building is hiding from the public eye. Pushing past the weird feeling, he takes a bigger step into the room and sticks his hand out, saying, “Will said your name is Richie?”

            Glancing down at the tips of Eddie’s fingers, Richie drags his gaze up Eddie’s arm until they’re meeting gazes again, and he still looks a little flustered, but he just smiles, shakes Eddie’s hand, and tells him, “Yeah, that’s me. Richie Tozier.”

            Returning the smile with a grin, Eddie nods and forces himself to release Richie’s hand before it can be become weird. “Eddie Kaspbrak,” he introduces, gesturing towards the ceiling vaguely. “I’m up on the sixth floor. I’ve lived here for years, so trust me when I say you chose the right place to move in.”

            “Did I?” Richie hums, leaning back against the counter and stuffing his hands into his front pockets. His gaze keeps scanning over Eddie’s face absentmindedly, like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it, and it’s such a familiar action that Eddie’s almost tears up at it. “It seems alright so far. Definitely better than the hotel I was staying in before this.”

            Eddie frowns, brows drawing together. “Hotel? Why were you staying in a hotel?”

            It’s not a question that a complete stranger should ask, at least not a respectful one, but Eddie can’t hold the words back. And apparently, Richie can’t, either, as he doesn’t hesitate to answer, “I just moved out of my parents house because I was really unhappy with the life I was living there. Didn’t wanna wait until I found my own place, so I was staying at the Westin until today. I figured it was better to be in a hotel then it would have been to be under my parents roof.” The words hang in the air for a moment, until realization seems to dawn on Richie’s features, causing him to flinch away. “Shit, that was heavy, wasn’t it? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

            “No, it’s fine,” Eddie assures, biting back an excited smile. Even without meaning to, Richie is trusting him with that information. That’s a really good sign. “I asked, don’t apologize for giving me the answer.”

            “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t need to be unloading my baggage on someone I just met,” Richie points out. “I didn’t even mean to say that, it just… slipped out. So, you’re right, but I’m still sorry.”

            _Secret for a secret, darling,_ Eddie thinks, the echo of his voice from lifetime’s ago. He doesn’t say it, though he very much wants to – wants to see if any recognition would flash in Richie’s eyes, if he’d hear those words and feel more meaning behind it than his mind can understand. Instead, he just lifts his shoulders in a shrug and tells him, “You gotta unload your baggage onto someone. Carrying that shit around by yourself will just crush you eventually.”

            Richie looks at him curiously, head tilting to the side as he blinks slowly. “I guess so,” he murmurs thoughtfully. Glancing away, he shakes his head and clears his throat. “So, um- there are other people coming, right? Just because Will said he had friends that could help, so I thought there’d be more than just one person showing up.”

            “No, yeah, there’s more people on the way,” Eddie assures quickly. “Will’s still rounding everybody up right now. I wasn’t in the middle of anything when he knocked on my door, so I guess I was the first to make it down here. Everyone else will be here any minute.”

            Satisfied, Richie nods, his gaze on Eddie once more, a contemplative storm brewing within those baby blues. Eddie feels a little weak, a little overwhelmed, a little over his head, but he just cocks his head to the side and waits. A long moment of nothing goes by there they just hold gazes – Eddie’s wide and hopefully, Richie’s squinted and unsure – before Richie seems to a reach a conclusion in his mind, pursing his lips nervously and looking down at the toes of his shoes. “This might be a long shot, and totally out of place,” he starts, glancing rapidly between Eddie and the floor. “I mean, I don’t even really have anything here to cook with, but, uh- would you want to get dinner with me or something? Just, like- I accidentally shared some of my baggage with you, it’s only fair to give you the chance to do the same. Right?”

            Biting back a grin, Eddie lets out a long hum, his eyes dancing. This is nice, he thinks, but it also still aches in the center of his chest, like a bruise or a broken bone that just won’t heal. He doesn’t let that show, however, instead just saying, “Right. Name a time and a place. I’ll be there.”

 

 

 

 

            On the third ring, Maggie picks up and immediately asks, “What’s wrong?”

            It’s kind of endearing, the fact that she cares so much, but it’s also a little irritating, the implication that she thinks he’s already fucked something up. Instead of letting any frustration bubble up, however, Richie just leans his head back, his limbs sprawled out on his bedroom floor where his bed will be when he bothers to buy one, and questions, “What classifies something as a date?”

            “A date?” Maggie repeats, the surprise clear in her voice. There’s a muffled shuffling in the background – if Richie were to guess, she had been lounging around in the living room and is now moving somewhere more private. That’s something he got from her, never feeling safe to talk unless behind a locked door. After a moment in which Richie just listens to her move, she finally speaks up again, now sounding more amused. “You’re going on a date?”

            “I don’t know, that’s why I’m calling you,” Richie tells her, his gaze focused on the ceiling above him, tracing over every bump and minuscule crack. “How am I supposed to know if it’s a date or if it’s just a friendly dinner? I mean, I’m the one who asked to go on the dinner, but I don’t know if it was implied to be a date or not. The only dates I’ve ever been on were set up by you and dad, and none of them were good. Actually, they all kind of sucked. Like, a lot. You two have terrible taste in men.”

            Sounding affronted, his mother points out, “We set you up with women, too!”

            Huffing out a lazy little half laugh, Richie nods, knowing she can’t see him, and muses, “You’re right, you did. The girls you set me up with weren’t that bad, but still not my type. Do the world a favor and don’t try to make a career as a match maker. Dad’s better playing lawyer than he is playing cupid.”

            Maggie laughs, too, snickering lightly and saying, “I guess that’s fair. Now, fess up, sugarplum. Who’s the lucky angel you might be going on a date with, and why are you calling me about it?”

            “I don’t exactly have any friends to call,” he says simply, grimacing. _I would have called Stan,_ he thinks idly, but shoves it away. Now isn’t the time for that. “That leaves me with you and dad, and don’t get me wrong, dad’s great and all, but he’d just tell me to buy an engagement ring right now instead of giving me real advise. I’m looking for intelligence here, not a shitty remake of an unrealistic romcom.”

            “Your father is an expert on romcom’s,” Maggie hums. “And you didn’t answer me. Who is it? Can I get a name? Description? Zodiac? Do they believe in the moon landing? Too tall? Too short? A good laugh? Nice eyes? Come on, Richie. Give me something.”

            Letting out a full laugh, his eyes crinkling with the size of his smile, he rolls onto his side and gives his phone, laying on the floor next to him with the speaker turned on, a fond smile, as if his mother will be able to sense it through the device. “Who knew you’d be so nosy when you’re not the one choosing my dates,” he giggles, and he can practically feel her rolling her eyes. Deciding to bring an end to the joking, he flops onto his back again and sighs out, “His name is Eddie. He lives in my building and… I don’t know. We didn’t really talk much, but he just… there’s something about him. I can’t tell what it is or why, but as soon as I saw him I was a mess. I didn’t even think before asking him to dinner, and I have no clue if he thinks it’s a date or not. I felt like an idiot talking to him, but, like, a _good_ idiot. Like, I wouldn’t mind being that kind of idiot forever if it means talking to him forever. Is that love at first sight? Is that what this is?”

            “That’s being smitten, kitten,” Maggie sing-songs chirpily. “Did the world go into slow motion when you saw him? You know, you’re setting up a good beginning to a romcom. Maybe you should have called your father after all.”

            “I’m starting to regret calling you.”

            Snorting, Maggie quickly says, “Okay, okay, fine, I’m sorry. Go on, dear. Tell me about him.”

            And Richie does, after a moment of hesitation, pondering just how much he wants to say. “I really don’t know how to explain it,” he tells her honestly, more vulnerability in his voice than he’s shown her in years. She must sense this, because she goes deathly quiet, listening intently to each and every word he has to offer. “I mean, I literally don’t know him at all, but I looked at him and he felt so… familiar? Like, something about his eyes, maybe, or just the way he was looking at me… I feel like I’ve seen him before, like I _knew_ him before, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how that’s possible.”

            “It’s not.”

            For a moment, all Richie can do is frown, confused by that response, before it registers in his head that the voice that spoke does not belong to his mother. Once that dawns on him, he shoots into a sitting position, his gaze sweeping around the room before settling on the figure standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

            Stan smiles, small and timid. “But neither is me standing here, so what’s in the realm of what you think is and isn’t possible shouldn’t hold you back from living your life how you want.”

            “Oh my god,” Richie breathes, his breath stuttering in his chest. Faintly, he can hear his mother’s voice through the speaker of his phone, asking him what’s going on, demanding to know if he’s alright, but he just blindly reaches over and ends the call, making a mental note to himself to text her later and assure her that he wasn’t murdered during his first night living in his new apartment.

            He can’t take his eyes off of Stan, but he also can’t make any other words form past the lump in the back of his throat. All he can think is _alive, alive, alive,_ because he had been told that Stan was dead. He was the one who found Stan, beaten and bloody in the alley behind the restaurant he was working at. He was the one who rushed Stan to the hospital. He was the one the doctor alerted of Stan’s passing.

            Yet, despite all that, Stan is right here, in front of his eyes, completely and utterly _alive._

            “I like what you’ve done with the place so far,” Stan says softly, trailing into the room and scanning over his surroundings. There’s not much set up in here, just some clothes hung up in the closet and a bedside table shoved in the corner of the room, not having a bed to place the table next to quite yet. The mess of boxes has been lessened considerably, though, thanks to the help of Will and Eddie and the rest of their friends who had stopped by to offer their assistance. The hardest part had been the couch and TV, the only furniture Richie has managed to purchase up until this point, but even that had been fairly easy with their help. Stan looks like he knows this, his gaze so warm and kind as he looks back at Richie and smiles. “They’re great, aren’t they? They’re like family to me, all of them. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for them. Bill and Mike, especially. Those two helped me out of the gutter more times than I can count. It’s kind of surprising, knowing what they really are. You wouldn’t think half of the apocalypse could be so kind, but there they are, proving us wrong.”

            “The…?” Richie trails off, swallowing thickly as he shakes his head back and forth. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a stray tear slip loose, and opens them again to find that Stan is still right there. Reaching over, he pinches his forearm, winces at the shock of pain, and gapes as Stan remains an unwavering presence in the room. “You’re real,” he murmurs in awe. “You’re- you _are_ real, right?”

            Stan smiles wider, sheepish and strained. “I am,” he confirms with a nod. He looks down, uncertainty crossing his features before he looks back up, his eyes shining now. “Can I…” He stops, brows furrowing together as he holds out his arms slightly. “Can I hug you?”

            Instantly, Richie scrambles to his feet, nearly toppling over as his legs shake, but Stan’s arms wrap around him and keep him standing. The physical touch solidifies this in Richie’s brain, and then the dam breaks, a sob ripping from the back of his throat and his hands shaking where they curl into the fabric of Stan’s shirt. He can feel Stan’s tears dampening his shoulder, but he doesn’t care.

            He thought his only friend was dead, and now he’s in his arms. Tear stains are the last thing he could possibly care about right now.

 

 

 

 

            Richie has about… three million questions, give or take a few. While he would like to ask them all at once, it all kind of boils down to once thing. So, after taking a bottle of his mother’s wine that she doesn’t know he stole out of the fridge and sitting on the kitchen floor, he takes a long swig and asks, “How the hell are you alive?”

            “That’s a long story,” Stan tells him, shrugging as if this isn’t a big deal. Richie feels like it isn’t, at least not in his mind, but he doesn’t know what that means. He takes another drink of the wine, scrubs the sticky tracks of dried tears off his cheeks, and waits for Stan to go on. “I don’t know if you’ll believe it. Not at first, anyway.”

            “Your blood was on my clothes,” Richie deadpans, tightening his clutch on the neck of the wine bottle. “I went out behind the restaurant for a smoke and I saw what those fucking assholes did to you and I _carried_ _you_ , Stan. I fucking _carried you_ to my car, and the entire drive to the hospital I only had one hand on the wheel because I didn’t want to let go of you the entire time. I sat in the waiting room for six hours in bloody clothes and looked the doctor in the eye when she said that she couldn’t save you. I had to scrub your blood out of the backseat of my car and even then I couldn’t handle being in the damn thing, so I sold it and bought a new one. Ever since then, I’ve been having nightmares because I lost my only friend and, if I had gotten there sooner, maybe you would have lived. So, whatever it is you have to say, I’ll believe you. No matter what. Nothing that I’d normally believe would ever bring you back.”

            Stan purses his lips, cocks his head to the side, and states, “I can’t die.”

            With a slow blink and another drink of his wine, Richie asks, “Can you… elaborate, please?”

            “I was born in the forties,” Stan starts, his gaze drifting away from Richie to stare at the wall, eyes glazed over and unfocused. “I… wasn’t a normal kid, I guess. My entire family wasn’t normal, actually, I just didn’t know it until I was a teenager. There’s, uh… god, I don’t know how to explain this. Will would do a much better job but they thought it’d be more effective if I did it.” He lets out a long sigh, thumping his head back against the cabinets he’s leaning against, and offers Richie a smile that Richie can’t even attempt to return. “Okay, um- I’m just going to break it down. Okay?”

            Richie squints at Stan curiously. “Okay…”

            “I’m what most people call a Healer,” Stan explains, his brows drawing together into a serious look as he straightens his posture and takes on an almost teacherly appearance. “In terms of what all is out there, Healers aren’t exactly the most powerful beings to ever exist, but we’re important. Essentially, we do exactly what it sounds like: we heal. We heal ourselves and we heal others. There’s a way to tap into the power within a Healer and develop it into something stronger, but I was never interested in that. I was just glad that, if I got a scrape on my knee, it’d be gone in minutes rather than days. That was good enough for me. I never questioned how that worked, though, you know? I was just used to it because that’s what everyone in my family was like. Then, when I was a teenager, my parents sat me down and explained to me what exactly my capabilities were, and the dangers of people knowing what I am.

            “For a long time, I was really good at hiding what I was, because it wasn’t a super big thing. Like, people couldn’t tell by looking at me, and being a Healer isn’t super hard to control, but... let’s just say things got out of control, and now I’m involuntarily immortal. I thought I was the only one dealing with this kind of thing, but then I met this guy. You might know him, name is Eddie? I heard you two made dinner plans.”

            Lips tugging down into a frown, Richie nods slowly. “And this was… when, exactly?”

            Pleasantly surprised by the lack of a freak out, Stan takes a moment to consider this, then cheerily answers, “It was… 1972, I believe. We actually met because I moved here. This was my apartment, before I quote on quote died.”

            “So…” Richie pauses to take yet another drink of his wine, this one so long that Stan starts to feel a little concerned. When he lowers the bottle, his gaze is unfocused and his lips are stained a faint pink from the red liquid. “You’re telling me that you two were alive in 1972?”

            “Yes and no,” Stan answers, though his words are a little slower now, realizing that maybe Richie isn’t intaking this information as easily as he had thought. Perhaps there is a freak out going on, only an internal one. “We’re both in a very similar situation for very different reasons. Neither of us can die, but we’re not exactly alive, either. We’re kind of… stuck, I guess.”

            “Stuck,” Richie repeats, voice monotone. He looks at Stan, but his eyes still appear distant.

            Stan falters, frowning. “Do you believe what I’m saying? Like, at all?”

            With a sigh, Richie scrubs his hand over his features, blinking a few times, until his gaze is more clear and he looks more present in the conversation. “I don’t _not_ believe you,” he offer meekly, staring down at the bottle of wine, brows pinched together in thought. “I mean, I saw you… basically dead, definitely dying, only two months ago. You look like you’re in perfect health now, which shouldn’t be possible after how fucked up you were. I… I don’t expect a _normal_ explanation, but… I just feel like I’m dreaming. Like, this is only something that would happen in a dream, right? But I don’t _want_ it to be a dream, ‘cause that means I’ll wake up and you’ll be dead again. So, sure, I believe you, because I know you wouldn’t lie to me, but I don’t know if I believe that all of this—” he gestures around him vaguely, the action minuscule and weak, “—is real. Does that make sense?”

            For a moment, Stan doesn’t answer, scanning over Richie’s features over and over again in an attempt to get a read on him. They hadn’t been friends for very long, but they had gotten close in the short amount of time they knew each other – Stan doesn’t like to indulge himself in human friends that he’ll inevitably outlive, and Richie just hadn’t given himself the opportunity to make friends of his own accord before then due to living under his parents thumb. While the two arguably know very little about each other, Stan thinks it’s fair to say he has a good grip on the basic functionality of Richie’s brain, and he believes that he can read that glint in Richie’s eyes quite easily.

            He can tell that Richie wants to believe him but doesn’t know how to allow himself just that.

            “This is not a regular apartment complex,” Stan tells him, deciding to skip over the backstory and get straight to the point. He thinks, perhaps, that being blunt might make this easier. “Everyone in here is something, except for you. We’ve got witches, shapeshifters, angels, demons, you name it. Everyone you met today was something, but the most important out of them is Eddie. That’s why I’m here.”

            Richie’s features scrunch up, confused. “Eddie—?”

            “Eddie has been alive since the 1800’s,” Stan goes on. “He was a closeted gay man living in the south with his homophobic, piece of shit mother. He’s also an earth witch, and his mother was a very powerful general witch. That doesn’t make sense now, I know, but those details can wait until later. The point is, his mother found him kissing another man and she did what she thought was necessary, killing his lover and cursing him to live until he found a woman who loved him as much as he loved her, but she fucked up. She was powerful, but she was angry, and she thought that true love could only be shared between a man and a woman, so she didn’t specify gender when she cast the curse. Eddie’s been alive ever since, tracking down the reincarnation of the man he knew. His most recent attempt was to make the owners of this place put this apartment up for rent and cast some kind of spell to make the ads for it appeal to anyone who could possibly be the right guy.”

            “Stan,” Richie says, shaking his head. He looks a little panicked, like he knows what Stan is going to say and doesn’t want to hear it; is _afraid_ to hear it. “Stan, I don’t—”

            Stan interrupts, telling him, “In 1894, Eddie Kaspbrak fell in love with Richard Tozier, and he’s been trying to find you ever since. You’re the reincarnation of the man he loved, and if you doubt that, then let me tell you this. You have the same name, the same face, the same soul as the guy Eddie was with. If you don’t believe that, though, then here’s something else: you have the same sense of humor as Eddie, the perfect personality to balance with Eddie’s. If I didn’t know you two were destined to be together, I would have set you guys up anyway because you’re perfect for each other in every way.”

            Jaw unhinged and mouth agape, Richie stares at Stan in mild horror. “That can’t be true.”

            “It is,” Stan insists. “I know what it sounds like, and I swear to god that I’ll prove it all to you in time, but you have to know the truth. Eddie… he really wanted to try and start over, to form a relationship with you and then maybe tell you the truth after you learned about everything else, but after today he came to me crying. He can’t pretend to not know you, Richie, even if you don’t know him—”

            “But it felt like I did,” Richie breathes, paling considerably. “I… that’s what I was telling my mom while I was on the phone with her, right before I saw you. When I looked at him, it felt like I already knew him. I…” He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut, and presses the mouth of the bottle against his lips to take another long, slow swig. Once satisfied, he lets his head thump back against the wall, eyes still shut, and ghosts out, “This is so fucking bizarre, man. You realize that, right?”

            “Realize it?” Stan snorts. “I _live_ it. Trust me, I know.”

            Unable to help it, Richie’s lips quirk up into a small, strained smile. “Fair enough.”

            Leaning forward, Stan takes what’s left of the wine out of Richie’s hands, ignoring the small noise of complaint he makes. “I need you to listen to me,” he says softly, carefully reaching up to settle the bottle safely on the counter above him. Richie pouts, eyes bloodshot and face flushed from the wine, but he nods, allowing Stan to continue. “You two already agreed to have dinner, but Eddie couldn’t lie to you. After discussing it, we thought it’d be more effective if I told you this because we were already friends before what happened to me. Plus, I hated knowing you were in the same building as me and not being able to come say hi, so this was a win-win situation, to be honest. But that’s why I’m here. I need you to know the truth, and I need you to promise me that you’ll still go to dinner with him and hear him out, because you may not feel it yet, but you’re going to love him _so much,_ Richie. He wouldn’t spend over a century looking for you if you two weren’t meant to grow old together. Can you promise me that?”

            Richie holds Stan’s steady gaze in uncertainty, but then he nods, slow and sluggish. “I promise.”

 

 

 

 

            The dinner, Maggie later assures him after he feeds her some half-assed excuse for his sudden departure during their conversation, is definitely a date. Not that Richie needs her to tell him that anymore. Stan made it pretty clear that this meal means a lot for many different reasons.

            He likes having his mother’s support, though – it’s a comforting difference from the suffocation that came with living with her, doing whatever he could to please her and his father. Moving out had been the right decision, and he thinks his parents are starting to realize that, because Richie was never very open and chatty with them like he has been the past few weeks that he hasn’t been living under their roof. They’re still wary, subtly asking him questions about what he needs, if he wants help, and other things that make his skin itch when he hears them, but they also trust him more now that he’s proving them he’s capable of being independent. It’s a nice change. Which is why, even though he doesn’t need his mother telling him that it’s a date, he still lets her talk his ear off with advice, and even goes to the mall with her and Went to get their opinions on what he should wear.

            It’s more nerve wracking than a regular date, because nothing about the situation as a whole is regular, but he can’t tell them that. So, he just smiles, tries on the things they hand him, and ends up going home with a new pair of presentable jeans and a button up that’s the perfect balance between formal and abnormal, splashes of muted colors in odd shapes traced across the fabric. Richie quite likes it, and pairs it with a regular, plain black jacket on top to round it out, soft and warm and comfortable in the chilly weather as he walks to the diner they agreed to meet at.

            According to Stan, Eddie is far more nervous about this than Richie is, for reasons that Richie cannot understand, which is a very fair and accurate statement. If what Stan told him is true (and he thinks it might be, though he feels absurd believing it) then Eddie has been waiting for this very dinner for an incomprehensibly long time. Richie just hopes he doesn’t become a let down or disappointment, really. He’d hate for Eddie to spend so long and end up disheartened by who Richie is now.

            Who he is now rather than who he was then. Because he was himself, only he was someone else, too, over a century ago. It’s… hard to think about. Richie tries not to dwell on the topic for too long.

            The diner they’ve chosen to meet at is a cozy little place, public enough to make the entire ordeal less tense, but the booths are far enough from each other to give a sense of solitude and privacy. Richie, for the first time in his life, gets there ten minutes early, but Eddie is still waiting for him despite that, sitting in the booth farthest from the door, his gaze trained distractedly on the wall. His fingers are tapping idly against the surface of the table, but then they link with each other to clasp his hands together, fall into Eddie’s lap, and then return to the table to keep on tapping. It’s kind of cute. Richie thinks it’s a little unfair that he’s cute. It makes this feel even more confusing in his mind when he tries to rationalize what’s going on.

            After a moment of standing there, nervous on a level much different than he’s ever felt before, he wipes his sweaty palms against the thighs of his jeans and approaches the booth briskly, sliding into the empty space across from Eddie and offering a small smile when he looks up at him with wide eyes. He looks surprised to see Richie, but in a good way, which he quickly explains by saying, “Wow, I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

            “I wanted to,” Richie tells him, because that is not a lie. While what Stan told him does sound insane and is terrifying to try and understand, he knows a few simple things: he knows he was instantly attracted to Eddie upon laying eyes on him, an attraction that runs deeper than just his physical appearance; he knows that he would trust Stan with his life, without question; and he knows that something much bigger than what he thought to be possible has to be at play for Stan to still be alive. Giving Eddie a genuine grin, he adds, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking lost and I’ll definitely need some time to try and figure out what this all is and get used to it, but I asked you to dinner. I’m not gonna stand you up just because I don’t understand the history behind… whatever happened with us.”

            “Whatever you need explained, I’ll tell you,” Eddie instantly tells him, and his eyes are a glimmering grey, filled to the brim with relief and awe and a mixture of emotions that Richie can’t quite identify. “I, uh- I know this is really, _really_ confusing, and I’m sorry for asking Stan to spring it all on you like that, but… I couldn’t pretend, you know? I saw you, and you look so much like you did back then, and I just couldn’t act like I didn’t know you before. It’s kind of selfish, I guess, but I remember how much you valued honesty before and I hope that’s still true now.”

            Richie hums, nodding once to assure Eddie that what he’s saying is correct. He has always considered honesty important to him – in his mind, he’d rather be told a hurtful truth than a kinder lie, because that lie will only hurt worse later than the truth would have initially. He supposes that’s relevant here, as well. Had he been blissfully unaware and started up a relationship with Eddie only to discover the truth down the road, he imagines he would have been fairly upset. As much as this makes his mind spin, he knows that it’s better this way right now.

            He knows it’ll be better in the long run, too. Whatever the long run may be.

            “How do you know?” he ends up asking. He’s been wondering it for the past few days, pondering over the specifics of how this works. Sure, he knows that he looks the same and has the same name, but Richard is pretty common. He’s pretty sure he has a few distance relatives that are named Richard Tozier as well, and who probably look similar to him, too. What he wants to know is how Eddie is certain he’s found the right guy. “How do you know that I’m… _him?_ That I’m the one you were with?”

            Eddie doesn’t answer for a long moment, his eyes scanning over Richie’s feature in contemplation before sweeping across the diner to make sure no one’s looking their away. Apparently satisfied, he meets Richie’s gaze again and asks, “Can I show you something?”

            Richie blanches. “Uh—”

            “It’ll answer your question,” Eddie promises him. After a second of hesitation, Richie nods his consent, though he is a little wary about it. Something about the way Eddie is looking at him makes him shift in his seat, not necessarily uncomfortable but definitely unsure of what to expect. His confusion only grows stronger when Eddie softly instructs, “Close your eyes.” He does as he’s told, brows pinching together, and only flinches slightly in shock when he feels the brush of fingertips against his temple.

            And then the world changes.

            Suddenly, he finds himself standing in a small, fancy looking corridor, the walls a pearly white and the floor made of what appears to be marble. He’s clad in a suit he knows he’s never worn before, the material thick yet a comfortable weight on him, warm and nice. After a moment, he can tell that his hair must be pushed back somehow, because there’s only a single curl in his face and the rest feels stiff on his head, gelled back or something of the sort. The glasses framing his eyes are thin-wired, circular and quite small, much different to the larger ones he prefers. Everything feels slightly off, but familiar in a way he can’t quite place.

            Until he realizes that, staring up at him, is Eddie, and they are dancing.

            It feels like the world around him is slowly taking shape, because he swears that Eddie hadn’t been there a moment before, knows that he hadn’t been moving before, either, but suddenly he can feel the weight of Eddie’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands clasped at the back of his neck. He notices belatedly that his hands are on Eddie’s waist, resting there gently as they sway along to the music that he didn’t hear until now, drifting down the hallway from a distant room that Richie can’t see.

            Eddie looks very different, his hair slicked back away from his face and his features much more bright. He’s also wearing a suit, though Richie quickly realizes that it’s a very old one, the style screaming Victorian Era  in a way that Richie doesn’t fully understand. It’s not something people would wear to prom nowadays, that’s for sure, but it looks nice on Eddie. Richie believes that anything would look nice on Eddie. Perhaps he shouldn’t think that about someone he just met, but this is different, isn’t it?

            “I wish we could hear the music better,” Richie hears himself say, the words leaving his mouth against his will, like he’s watching a movie from the first person rather than existing in the moment. Eddie’s smile softens into something a little bit sad. With a breathy little chuckle, Richie hears himself add, “You don’t have to tell me, I know. We can’t dance in front of them.”

            “We could,” Eddie corrects, “but they wouldn’t like it, and there would be Hell to pay. I’m afraid of what would happen if they saw, darling.”

            Richie nods, the action not of his own accord. “I know, love. I am, too.” He can feel himself grin wide as he suddenly releases Eddie’s waist and reaches up to take ahold of Eddie’s hand, spinning him graciously, drawing out a laugh that bubbles beautifully from the back of Eddie’s throat. “But don’t fret, my dear!” Richie sing-songs. “I’m just happy to get to dance with you at all.”

            The two of them giggle together, now twirling one another and humming loudly to make their own music, since the source of the sound is so far away. Richie feels his heartbeat quicken and—

            He opens his eyes, and the diner greets him, bright colors and pleasant chit-chat from the other customers floating through the air replacing the marble floors and distant music. Across the booth, Eddie watches him, his eyes wide and watery, and Richie notices absently that Eddie looks much more tired right now than he did in the scene he just saw in his head. Voice a little thick, Eddie tells him, “I know that it’s you because I can feel it, in the same way that I felt my heart pick up speed when I danced with you lifetimes ago. There’s no question in my mind that you’re the same person.”

            “Oh,” Richie breathes, raising a shaky hand up to brush through his hair – not pushed back, not held down with gel. Part of him wonders if what he just saw was made up, but it had felt so real, like he was actually there, like a memory.

            “Do you understand, Richie?” Eddie asks him, quiet and timid and hopeful.

            Richie nods, brows once again pinched together, tears burning the back of his eyes for reasons he can’t put into words. “I understand,” he whispers, his gaze glued to Eddie’s face, unable to look away.

            With a wobbly, kind smile, Eddie reaches over and lays his hand palm-up on the table, a silent offer. Not having to think about it, Richie takes Eddie’s hand into his, causing Eddie’s smile to widen, and the look in his eyes can only be described as the look someone has when they come home after a long time spent away. Richie feels a little breathless seeing that look directed at him, in disbelief about the fact that he’s lucky enough to be on the receiving end. Sniffling slightly, Eddie glances down at the two menus stacked at the edge of the table and says, “We should order something. This is supposed to be a dinner date, right? Dinner feels like a necessary part of that.”

            Laughing lightly, Richie nods, being sure to keep one hand holding onto Eddie as he uses the other one to reach forward and drag one of the menus closer to him, flipping it open to scan all the different things his place has to offer. With a challenging glint in his eyes, he looks back up at Eddie and tells him, “If we both get large shakes, the last one to finish it has to pay. Deal?”

            “Oh, you’re _so_ on. Might as well get your wallet out now, Tozier.”

            “I’m sorry, do you think I’m a loser? I’ll have you know I’ve never lost anything in my _life.”_

 

 

 

 

            (Richie loses, but he doesn’t mind. Even when Eddie relentlessly teases him about it.)

            (Being a loser isn’t a bad thing when you lose to the right people, after all.)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!!
> 
> [The next prompt for 31 Days of Halloween is summoning demons, and it's rated teen and up!]
> 
> [The next one shot in the _without him for far too long _series will be the full backstory of what happened between Eddie and Richie that led up to the curse cast by Sonia.]__


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